In Their Right Mind
by Vicki Turner
Summary: "Around twelve years ago Voldemort took over the Ministry of Magic. Who in their right mind would decide to have a child then?" Children conceived during the Second Wizarding War are about to start Hogwarts. A connected series of one-shots focusing on these brave or foolish couples who decided to have a child. Newest Chapter: Daphne/Theo
1. Prologue - Twelve

**In Their Right Mind** by Vicki Turner

**Prologue - Twelve **

Neville Longbottom, Professor of Herbology and Head of Gryffindor House at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, entered his family rectory from the attachment to the greenhouse and staggered toward the nearest available chair.

Distracted from her calculations, Hannah looked up from the Leaky Cauldron's ledger and considered the man sprawled across the armchair; he appeared as depleted as any of her daytime drunks. "That bad?" She whispered, pitching her voice low to avoid waking their four-year-old son in the next room.

A weary moan emanated from her husband's chest. "Twelve."

"Twelve?"

"Twelve."

...

Twelve.

The number fascinated many fervent disciples of Arithmancy. Twelve was the first abundant and superabundant number. Twelve was sublime, semiperfect, and superfactorial. Twelve crept amid the inner workings of spelling crafting, curse breaking, and the mysteries of time. Legend had it, an ancient mage once became obsessed with twelve's infinite complexities to the point that he refused to let any part of his brain think about less significant things, like breathing. He died twelve minutes after midnight on the the twelfth of December, 1212.

But for simpler folks, and Neville Longbottom counted himself among these, twelve was no mystery. Twelve was just a dozen. A dozen roses, a dozen eggs, a dozen chocolate frogs in one pack. Twelve divided the days into hours, the years into months. Neville couldn't have thought of anything more prosaic than twelve until Headmistress McGonagall announced that the magical census revealed that there were only twelve first-year students enrolled for September. Hogwarts had never seen such low enrollment since the founding of the school.

As Head of Gryffindor house, Neville had been called away to countless meetings over the summer to brainstorm how to accommodate such a small number. In the end, they patched together a schedule that had all students attending each subject together, despite the house system. Although the extra planning period was nice for the professors, a melancholy tide overtook Neville when he thought about the upcoming year.

"I still can't wrap my mind around it," Neville bemoaned one night to his wife as he sat on the edge of the bed pulling off his socks. "How could there only be twelve?"

Hannah, who for weeks had patiently borne his bafflement with sympathetic murmurings, tonight surprised him. She closed the Cauldron's ledger with a snap. "You're asking the wrong question: How could there _even be _twelve?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why did we wait three years to have Grant? We both wanted to start a family as soon as possible."

Neville frowned, caught off guard by his wife's tone and the change in the conversation's direction. "You know-I was an underpaid Herbology field assistant and your shifts at the Leaky Cauldron were inconsistent. It wasn't a good time."

"Exactly. And around twelve years ago Voldemort took over the Ministry of Magic. Who in their right mind would decide to have a child then?"

"It does seem crazy when you put it that way," Neville admitted.

"I wouldn't have," Hannah said. "All week I've been trying to think of one good reason to bring a child into such a messy situation, but there's none." She sighed. "I don't know why I'm bothered by it, but I can't fathom what went through their heads; having children isn't a decision that should be made lightly."

"I know," Neville agreed, finally seeing the larger context of their conversation. Over the past few months, he had hinted while she had determinedly dodged this very conversation. He didn't want to waste this opportunity. "And Hannah, love, it's okay-_I'm _okay. We don't need to rush." He leaned over and kissed his wife's cheek. "We still have plenty of time to have more children."

Hannah froze and Neville frowned. "What's wrong?"

"When we got married, I told you that I planned on having an outrageously large family. Dozens of children." Hannah wrung the edges of the comforter between her hands and studied the flower design, not meeting her husband's concerned gaze. "You said you wanted that, too."

"I did," he confirmed. "I still do."

When she looked up, her eyes glistened. "But I don't."

Neville's chest tightened. "Oh."

Tears started to fall down her face. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but I don't, I just don't. I love Grant more than I dreamed possible, but he gives me a run for my money every day, and Father's health is continuing to fail, I'm always hosting Gryffindor events here, I'm picking up more shifts at the cauldron, I want to take over one day, and-I don't want another child." Her voice broke into sobbing.

Neville immediately climbed onto the bed next to his wife and enveloped her shaking form in his arms."Shh..." he soothed as he rocked her back and forth. "It's alright." Memories of sleepless nights cradling an infant came unbidden to his mind and Neville ferociously pushed them away.

"It's not alright!" Hannah hiccuped through the tears.

"Of course it is," Neville said. He then forced himself to say the words he believed would become true: "Yes, I wanted more children, but I don't _need_ more. We have Grant. He's more than enough. _You're_ more than enough."

To Neville's dismay, Hannah's crying increased.

"I love you," Neville insisted, "more than any future child."

"Shut up," Hannah struggled to get out of his embrace.

"It's true! I love you!" Neville held on tighter, "I couldn't care less about having more children. That doesn't matter-you matter. You're my wife."

"Shut up!"

"I'm not upset. I'm okay, yeah? I'm okay with it."

"I'm pregnant!"

The unexpected words knocked him off balance, and he let go of her.

"You're what?"

"And I don't want it," Hannah confessed.

"How long have you known?" Neville's voice was hoarse.

"I don't want it."

"How long have you known?"

"Does it matter?" Hannah tried to wipe the tears away but water continued to leak from her eyes. "A week or so…"

"Hannah."

"Twelve days, okay? Twelve days."

"Why didn't you tell me?" His chest seemed to collapse into itself, compressing his heart into an increasingly smaller cage. He hadn't felt rejection this intense since visiting his senseless parents as a small child. He wished the blistering pain of betrayal would freeze into a cold, righteous anger, but the sight of Hannah's tear-stained cheeks and trembling body held him fast over the flames of his own pity. "Why did you try to face this alone?"

"I don't know," Hannah cried, but after a moment she amended her statement. "I wanted to have an abortion."

"And are you going to?"

"As if you don't already know."

"I wish I did, but I don't," Neville tried to keep his voice steady. "How do I know what you're thinking? I didn't even know you were pregnant. So, no, I don't know if you are going to have an abortion."

"How could I? You won't let me, you bastard."

"What do you mean I won't let you?" Neville frowned. He always treated their marriage as a partnership of equals, and her accusation wounded him. Frustration bled into his voice."Who do you think I am, Hannah? I'm your husband, not your jailer. I'm not going to imprison you until you give birth, and I'm not going to follow you every second of the day. If you want to abort our child, there's nothing I can do to stop you."

"But you already have."

"I don't understand."

"Our child. Why did you have to say _our _child?"

Silence stretched over them, like a tightly pulled tarp, as if any second the fabric would tear and unravel. But, the silence held as Neville considered what he'd say, what thread he'd pull to bring them back together. He knew the moral lecture his grandmother would have unleashed. He knew the tactful courtesy society would suggest. He even knew what phrases of tacit permission would ease Hannah's heart. Neville also knew he couldn't say any of that and mean it. He'd be a hypocrite and therefore a coward. He took a steadying breath.

"Because it _is_ our child," Neville confessed.

"I hate you." Hannah croaked, but sorrow overshadowed her anger. She reached out towards Neville and he moved closer. Burying her face into her husband's shoulder, she muttered, "I hate you so much."

"I know," he whispered, "I know."

"I really do hate you."

He kissed the top of her head and held her in his arms until she fell asleep.

Hours later, when drowsiness began to surpass his anxiety, Neville remembered the discussion that sparked the night's revelations. He had been so focused on the children, he had forgotten about their parents. Each child represented a difficult decision, like the one made tonight. His last waking thought was that he didn't envy those twelve brave and very foolish couples.


	2. Remus and Tonks - Double Dose

**Remus and Tonks - ****Double Dose**

There is an appropriate time to announce an unexpected pregnancy; 6:13 a.m. is not that time.

Remus awoke to the melodious sounds of retching. Blinking blearily as the early morning sun circumvented their broken blinds, he rolled over to look for his wife. The bathroom door stood ajar, and he found the (surprisingly) mousy-brown-haired girl slouched on their outdated vinyl floor, clinging to the porcelain rim with the unattractive distress of a shipwrecked passenger.

"Being pregnant sucks," Tonks muttered.

"Wh—uh—what?" Remus pushed himself up onto his elbows, serotonin still flooding his brain. His head felt full of cotton balls, which was hopefully muffling his ability to hear his wife's outrageous claim. "Come again?"

"There's some minuscule being living inside of me and it really hates that tapioca pudding I ate last night."

While they were sleeping, the room's cooling charms had worn off, and the temperature had skyrocketed due to a July heat wave, but Remus felt cold. "Is this a joke, Dora?"

"My stomach—" she threw up again here, "and several diagnostic charms tell me no."

"You're pregnant?" he choked on the impossible words.

"Yes."

Remus knew he should do something. According to the unspoken laws of marriage, he should rush over to his wife and snog her senseless (after she brushed her teeth, perhaps). He should cradle her face and tell her this is good news, no, the best news of his life. He should waltz with her around the room to the whispered _1-2-3_ step of '_I love you_.' At the very least, he should roll out of bed and hold her head as she continued to vomit. Instead, Remus buried his face in his pillow and wondered if he was still sleeping or just a coward.

Tonks pushed herself up from the ground, turned the faucet on and threw water over her face. She then stumbled back to the bed and collapsed beside her husband.

"Remus, I think I messed up," she muttered. "I shouldn't have told you like this. You were supposed to smile. Or laugh, or yell and cry, or scream or break out into song. You were supposed to feel _something_."

"I do feel something," Remus managed, slowly becoming convinced of his awakened state and growing sense of shame.

"What?"

_Dread. Fear. Anger. Despair._

"I don't know," Remus lied. _Another point in favor being a coward_, he thought.

"Go back to sleep, sweetheart. I'll try again later and you'll know how to feel."

Though the fog of sleep still clouded his head, Remus doubted he could slip back into blissful unconsciousness in order to postpone the question of how he felt. Moreover, there was another question that demanded to be answered.

"How did this happen?"

Tonks laughed. It was a mix between a frail hiccup and a sigh, but at least it was a sound amusement. Maybe the fact that he had managed to make her laugh should have alleviated some of the guilt for his non-responsiveness. Maybe that laugh should have shocked awake dormant feelings that were appropriate for husbands in this situation. But it had been a serious question.

"Well, Remus—" Tonks drawled, coloring her voice with a husky sensuality.

"It's just we were so careful," Remus said. "You took a potion. I took a potion. One should have been enough. We were doubly safe. How did this happen? How?"

Tonks turned over, pillow to pillow, inches apart, and her grey eyes evaluated his earnest face. "Something must have gone wrong," she offered. "You've freely admitted to being pants at potions."

Yesterday, he would have taken the insult with grace and proceeded to announce his complete bafflement over the miracle of her NEWT level O in that subject. His laughter at her expense would have been light and inconsequential, because he had never truly found her success all that surprising. Tonks' brain was like a muggle electric circuit breaker. She could throw switches on and off in seconds. In moments of crisis, bursts of intense concentration flowed through her body and eliminated any awkward movements. She did it instinctively instead of consciously, to the metamorphosis's great annoyance. He had seen her duel with the utmost grace and only five minutes later trip over a curb when the fighting subsided. Yes, only yesterday Remus would have teased her and then admired how his wife's brain dazzled the world and especially him. Today, he did not even smile.

"They were from my personal stores, but I didn't make them," Remus said.

"Well, whoever made them messed up."

That didn't make Remus feel any better. "Snape wouldn't have screwed up such a simple potion."

"Snape made your potions?" Tonks asked appalled. They were all still a little disturbed by the events of last month, quite a bit lost, and rather angry.

"Well, it was before..." Remus said. "Anyways, Snape wouldn't have accidentally messed up a potion. He's a horrible excuse for a human being, but he's still a genius brewer."

"I agree," Tonks said.

"Unless... What if it wasn't an accident?"

"You mean he sabotaged the potions on purpose? It's a theory . . ." she hedged. "But it had the right color, texture, and horrid taste. I know a contraceptive potion when I drink one."

Tonks blushed, and Remus averted his eyes; he was not inclined to think about exactly how many times his wife needed such a potion before meeting him. He continued, "If anyone could mask a tainted potion it would be Snape."

"But why would he?"

"Out of spite? The man had hated teaching and probably thought inflicting a child on us would be perfect punishment. Maybe he wanted to see us saddled with a kid and be unable to fight? Oh, I don't know! The moment he killed Dumbledore I awoke from the delusion that I knew anything about the way that man thinks."

Tonks rolled her eyes. "As if I'd be sidelined so easily. I don't think it's Snape. Something else went wrong. You're being paranoid; in all likelihood, Snape brewed the potions correctly, but they just didn't work. Now that I think about it, that doesn't surprise me."

"A potion that should prevent pregnancy, but allows you to become pregnant, was brewed correctly? I'm glad to see the hormones haven't affected your logic yet." Remus knew that last bit was a mistake the moment when it came out of his mouth. Tonks eyes narrowed. He could only blame six am for so long before having to admit he was a complete git and a horrible husband.

"The potions are designed for typical human biology," Tonks explained. "We don't quite fall into that category, do we, Remus?"

"The potion didn't work because I'm a werewolf." His blue eyes seemed to shatter into a million razor-sharp shards of guilt. Tonks reached out to comfort him, but Remus turned away from his wife and slung his legs over the side of the bed. With his head cradled in his hands, he murmured, "I should have never let..."

Crawling toward the edge of the bed, Tonks knelt behind the werewolf. She laced her arms under his shoulders and rested her head on his scarred back. "Or maybe it had something to do with me being a metamorphosis!" she suggested brightly, which Remus found odd but strangely endearing considering the situation. "Both of the potions failed. Not just yours."

"But if I wasn't—"

"Stop that. Your lycanthropy did not mess up my biological reaction to this potion."

"But if you had married someone else—"

"I married you." She squeezed him tightly. Tonks couldn't imagine spending the rest of her life with anyone else besides her bookish and brave man.

"And what a mess we've made of it." Remus felt despair creeping in. "What are we going to do?"

"Have a baby."

"You make it sound so simple, but it's not. A war is no time to have a baby."

"But people have them anyways," Tonks shrugged. "To have life in the middle of all this death, it'd be a perfect symbol of our hope."

"Do you know who else thought that? James and Lily." Remus abruptly stood, causing Tonks to grip the edge of the bed before she tumbled off. He started pacing back and forth between the walls of their cramped bedroom, which they could barely afford on Tonks's meager savings after shelling out for his Wolfsbane potion. The forced short strides fueled Remus's concerns. "A child is not a symbol, Dora, but another living creature, a poor being completely dependent on us for its survival."

"So, it was wrong for the Potters to have a child?" Tonks countered. "Harry was a mistake?"

"Of course!" Remus yelled, then sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. "Don't look at me like that, you know I love Harry, but consider how he's suffered. Even if there wasn't a stupid prophecy, who knows if either James or Lily would have made it out alive. Many parents didn't. I taught those children born during the war and not one of them escaped unscathed."

"I don't care about the past and other people's children. I care about the future, and I only care about your answer to this one question," Tonks's patience had reached its end. "Do you believe this child, our child, is a mistake?" Tonks pinned him with her fiercest stare, a passionate motherly protection already flaring.

"Yes."

The word was clear and unapologetic.

"I'm not ending the life of our daughter or son before it begins." Tonks's voice deceptively cold and her burning anger spread across the space between them. "If you don't like that you can leave."

It was as if a mountain cracked, and Remus could see the first fissure in the foundation of their marriage running down the bedroom floor. He lost his breath in the unexpected intensity of this pain.

"I didn't ask you to do that. I don't _want_ you to." Remus stepped over the divide and returned besides his wife. "Some mistakes you can't undo, you just make do."

"I'm still not convinced our child is a mistake," Tonks countered. "Unplanned, unexpected, sure. But not a mistake."

"I'm not trying to be insensitive. I'm being honest." Remus rubbed his eyes again. It was too darn early for these conversations. "What kind of life does this kid have to look forward to?" With Dumbledore gone, Remus knew the war could stretch on for ages or end horribly fast. Harry was their best shot, but a long shot nonetheless.

"Pessimism makes your gray hairs more noticeable."

"Even if we defeat You-Know-Who within the next seven to eight months, best case scenario, there are other considerations. I've never heard of a werewolf having children. What if he inherits my lycanthropy?"

A sudden thought seized Remus and he paled. The full moon was only two days away—what if the fetus transformed inside of Tonks? Surely such a transformation could do irreparable damage to her uterus, _fatal_ damage. With mounting horror, Remus realized he might have just killed this young, precious and precocious woman with his carelessness. His selfish desire to marry her could have signed Tonks and their unborn child's execution. Two days. What if he only had two more days to be with her?

Tonks rested her head on his bare shoulder, and snuck her arm around his larger one and squeezed. "I'd love my werewolf daughter or son just as much as I love my werewolf husband."

"The pregnancy might kill you," Remus' voice sounded hollow. "That might be the reason no one has ever recorded a werewolf having children. If I lose you, this pregnancy would be the worst mistake of my life."

Tonks softened at his words, her anger dying out in the face of his pain. "You won't lose me."

"I should have been more careful, I should have done more research, I should have never allowed you to hitch your life to the crashing runaway cart of my existence. I'm an unemployed werewolf who could never provide a stable home for you or a child. I should have never condemned you to this life. If I thought it would fix anything, I would leave like you said. I'm not good enough for you."

"Do you love me?" Tonks asked, interrupting his tirade.

"I adore you, Dora." Remus confirmed. "Loving you is like breathing; I can't help it and my life depends on it."

"Do you love our child?"

"I'm scared to death about its future, but I will love him or her with all my heart."

"Then, shut up and don't dare speak of leaving me, Remus bloody Lupin." She grabbed his face with both his hands. "We're newlyweds and expecting. Why should two doses of happiness cancel each other out? Why can't we be happy?"

The sunrise streaming through their window covered her, while Remus was still in the shadows. Over the course of their conversation, her hair had slowly regained color, turning into a proper plum, but the tips were a soft lavender, almost sparkling in the early morning rays.

And Remus marveled how perfectly the light and shadow represented their relationship. Tonks was light; she touched everything with her warm grace yet still remained an ideal incapable of being touched. Yet, here he was, an old werewolf, a slave to the moon, trying to steal the light of the sun. It was idiotic to believe he wouldn't destroy such beauty if he grasped it.

'_I'm a selfish fool,' _he thought, because if only for today, he'd listen to his wife and forget the war and his condition, abandon logic and morality. The woman he loved was carrying his child; if he could block the protests of his mind, his heart whispered that this was something good.

Remus reached up and took Tonks' hands from his face. He pressed his lips to the back of her hand. He smiled reassuringly, hiding his doubts under an aura of confidence. Tonks clung to his change in demeanour as if her life depended on it.

"Yes," he affirmed, "Why can't we be happy?"


	3. Persephone and Joseph - Our Boy

**Persephone and Joseph - Our Boy**

As everyone waited for the first years to join the welcome feast, Neville sat at the head table feigning interest in Professor Sujay Sugarbush ramblings about adjustments to the NEWT level Arithmancy course. Usually, Neville enjoyed discussing pedagogical techniques with his colleagues, but tonight he couldn't focus; his wife hadn't talked to him in a week.

After comforting each other that first night, Hannah pushed him away in the morning. At first, Neville believed she was strategically retreating to collect herself before coming to a decision together. When her a couple of days transformed her cold shoulder turned into a Siberian winter of indifference, he began to worry. In eight years of marriage, they'd never fought like this before. Neville wondered bleakly if this was how most divorces began.

"Professor Longbottom...Neville, are you alright?" Neville started as a hand touched his shoulder. Professor Sugarbush's eyebrows furrowed and he pitched his voice low. "You seem preoccupied."

Neville was spared the indignity of lying to a friend when the hall doors burst open, and twelve terrified, energetic, and awestruck first years stole everyone's attention.

The first child was called up to the hat. "Bellwood, McKenzie" bounced to the stage, energetic, but coordinated. His gloomy thoughts disappeared as Neville imagined her flying a broom, tossing a quarrel through a hoop, proudly wearing her house colors of... "GRYFFINDOR!" The hat wasted no time with her.

"Daniels, Nia." In contrast to the bubbly, blonde and bespeckled Bellwood, Nia cautiously moved toward the front. As she ascended the steps, the girl bunched up her robes in her hand as if afraid she'd trip, a clear sign that she was muggleborn. Soon, Neville witnessed another student sent his way to, " GRYFFINDOR!"

Next, "Eckard, Keeler," became the first Ravenclaw and the two Forbes twins, Kierra and Sara, quickly found their way into Slytherin. Neville quickly forgot himself in the excitement of the sorting.

Then the name "Lupin, Edward" caused a ripple of tension to pass through the staff. Curiosity and painful memories overtook the older staff as the boy with bright neon green hair and his mother's heart shaped face patted another first year on the back before racing to the stage. He waved enthusiastically at the crowd before dramatically dropping down onto the stool. Neville had been teaching long enough to discern the nerves beneath the exuberance, though.

Painful minutes ticked by as Teddy and the sorting hat engaged in a seemingly vicious, but to everyone's disappointment, silent debate. "GRYFFINDOR!" The hat finally announced, and Teddy punched the air in victory.

The hat proceeded to make a short order of two Ravenclaws-Heap Ngo and Svetlana Petroshka. Then, a petite blonde, Sage Rouke, became a Slytherin.

A reserved brown haired boy proceeded to climb the steps. Neville remembered him standing next to Teddy Lupin earlier. Neither flustered nor frightened by the magical sorting hat, Neville inferred that "Scarborough, Isaac" wasn't muggleborn. The calm confidence caused Neville to suspect that he had another Gryffindor on his hand, but the hat declared, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

The hall erupted in applause, with the Hufflepuff students pounding their table and jumping off the benches. Professor Sugarbush, the Head of Hufflepuff house, nearly deafened Nevile by his cheering. More than half way through the list of first years, and this was the first hufflepuff announced.

Twelve. The inescapable number popped back in Neville's head. What a ridiculously small number. In fact there were only two more students waiting to be placed. Neville watched as Scelestus Tripp became a Ravenclaw and Hadrian Yaxley joined Gryffindor. As the hall settled down to feasting, Professor Sugarbush became agitated.

"Four Gryffindors, four Ravenclaws, three Slytherins, and one Hufflepuff," Sugarbush summarized. "The statistically likelihood of this scenario had been low, but like I tell my students, probability isn't synonymous with reality."

"He'll be all alone, then," Neville sighed.

"Never!" Sugarbush said, "We badgers look after our own."

"I know, but it'll still be hard."

"True," Sugarbush admitted. "Inter-house friendships are going to be more valuable than ever this year."

"Hm," Neville agreed as he stuffed the first forkful of the feast into his mouth. It tasted bland, though he knew the house elves hadn't changed their spice mix. "If anyone can make friends, it'd be a Hufflepuff."

"Here, here!"

* * *

_Two months previous ... _

In a small kitchen of Cherry Grove on the outskirts of Otley, sausages sizzled in an old copper frying pan. Persephone Scarborough opened the window above the sink to let the grease smoke tempt her squirrels instead of it setting off her fire alarm. As a pureblood witch, she thought the beeping device was an annoyance when whipping up a potion or a full English breakfast, but her muggleborn husband was adamant about the added safety, especially at night.

The smell of meat must have also reached her eleven-year-old son upstairs since she heard a pounding descent down the front hall stairs. Isaac slid into the kitchen with his socks on the hardwood flood, slamming into the table with a small _oomph_ and a chuckle.

"Morning, Pops! Food, Mum!"

"Isaac!" Persephone scolded, "Manners start in the morning and—"

"—and stay until snoring," Isaac rolled his eyes and plopped down in the chair across from his father. He put on his best posh accent, "May I please have eggs, beans and meat, ma'am?"

"Eggs and beans are on the table already, and drink a whole cup of pumpkin juice today, you hear?" She wagged her tongs in his direction.

Isaac obediently poured himself a glass. "Do you think it'll come today? My Hogwarts letter?"

"It should be coming soon," Persephone hedged, and summoned a couple sheets of paper towels to absorb grease before she transferred the savory sausage to a serving plate. "But it depends on the availability of owls. Some owls make more than one trip up and down the British Isles."

"But we're closer to Scotland; shouldn't we get ours quicker?" Isaac slopped some baked beans on his plate and eyed the scrambled eggs at the other end of the table, next to his father's elbow. "Dad, can you pass the eggs?"

Youthful brown eyes stared at the top of curly blond hair. Joseph Scarborough had the Daily Prophet spread across his lap, open to a full-page spread:

**Hogwarts to Welcome Last Batch of War Babies: **

**Eleven Years Since You-Know-Who**

"Dad, eggs."

Joseph blinked twice and muttered an apology. While reaching for the platter, the newspaper slid off his lap and scattered over the floor. With a groan, Joseph rolled his wheelchair back from the table and bent over, ineffectively trying to collect the pages.

"Let me," Isaac vaulted out of his chair and knelt on the ground, sweeping all the pages into one large heap within seconds. "Here you go." He handed his father the paper and grabbed the egg platter himself, dumping the last remains of the eggs on his plate before dropping the empty dish off in the sink and snatching two links of sausages from the paper towels. Persephone clicked the gas stove off and moved to fill her own plate when she heard the loud buzzer from the dryer. She momentarily denied her hunger and dashed to the laundry room to hang up several temperamental blouses before the wrinkles settled in. Growing up with house elves, Persephone never did learn all the clothes cleaning spells and just following the simple muggle way took less energy than finding the time in the middle of her job editing potions textbooks, clearing away clutter, and keeping the fridge stocked for her husband and son's lightening quick metabolism to flip through Madame Bennett's five volume Essential Household Spells. The fact that as an introvert she liked having a room to retreat to and a mindless chore to justify her time alone, well, that might have influenced her embrace of the muggle way, too.

Once hanging up the laundry, Persephone got carried away and started folding the other clothes and decided to throw in another load, even if it was only a half load; when Isaac's Hogwarts letter did come, there'd be trips to Diagon Alley, a rush of play dates before school started, and she'd be lucky to escape between the shopping, supervising and packing to keep up with household chores. She was recapping the detergent when Isaac poked his head into the room. His dark brown hair fell over his eyes in straight and oddly spaced lines like broken window blinds. She'd have to corner him for a quick trim before he wandered out into the wizarding world.

"Something wrong, Isaac?" Persephone continued fishing for pairs of socks from the wicker basket of clean clothes.

Her young son shifted his weight nervously. "I think Dad is having one of his days."

Persephone dropped one of her argyle socks on the dusty floor. It had been several months, and Persephone had begun to let herself believe that maybe they were out of the woods—forever, as foolish as that sounded now.

"Are you sure?" She pinned Isaac with a glare, harsh from concern more than anger, but it still made Isaac squirm.

"He's biting his lip and giving one word answers to my questions."

Persephone closed her eyes and with a deep breath gathered her strength. Feeling more collected, she turned and smiled at her son. "Thank you for telling me. You're a good kid." She wrapped her arm around Isaac's shoulder. Pulling him close, she kissed the top of his head, Persephone's long strawberry blond curls contrasting with his dark hair; she'd miss these moments when her baby boy was small enough to envelop in her arms like this. But, when Isaac squirmed in her prolonged embrace, Persephone snapped herself out of her sentimental musings.

"The weather's supposed to be scorching today. Water guns are in the shed. Now get," Persephone spun her son around and forcibly marched him to the side door. "Remember, our garden or Eric's. Don't come back until you're soaking wet."

"Yes, ma'am," Isaac jokingly saluted, but as he turned the doorknob he hesitated.

"Go," Persephone pushed him outside. "Don't worry about Dad. Mum's got it covered, you hear?"

"Yes, ma'am!" Isaac smiled and headed towards his friend's house.

As soon as the door closed behind Isaac, Persephone strode down the hall toward the kitchen at a fast clip with the determination of the healer headed into a tricky splinching refiguration. She wanted to face the problem with clinical detachment, but her heart clenched as she cast her eyes over the scene. Joseph was still looking at the newspaper, but not reading it. His breakfast was completely untouched; he hadn't even poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice. With anxiety building, Persephone recalled how shy he acted this morning, and she suddenly realized how he had progressively withdrew into himself more and more this past week. She cursed her previous optimism for blinding her to all the signs.

"Joey, baby, what's wrong?" Persephone slowly approached and knelt down beside her husband's chair. She ran her fingers through his blond curls reassuringly.

When Joseph faced her, there was water in his light blue eyes.

"Is it your legs? " Persephone reached down, and ran her hand up one leg of his trousers, following the plastic prosthetics up to his upper thigh. "I thought the potion was suppressing the phantom pains. Maybe a massage would help?" She started unsnapping the leg, but Joseph pressed his calloused hands over hers.

"It's not that."

Persephone withdrew her hands. "Then what?"

"Isaac's Hogwarts letter is coming."

"And? Oh," She caught site of the newspaper spread out over the table. Tilting her head, she clucked," You're not seriously upset about Isaac leaving, are you? He's eleven, he's growing up, it happens! Children do come back from Hogwarts, Joe. Stop being so maudlin."

When the expected eye roll and faint smile didn't manifest, Persephone felt something twist in her stomach; it was the feeling of dread like one feels after putting the wrong emphasis on spell in a duel-that horrifying helplessness combined with the certainty of getting hit with a nasty hex. Persephone despised dangling at the mercy of fate.

"What are we going to do if the letter comes and it's not addressed to Isaac Scarborough?" asked Joseph.

"What do you mean not addressed to Isaac? Did we just hallucinate the accidental magic bursts through the years? Do we have a secret son or daughter up in the attic?" she laughed.

"What if the letter doesn't say Isaac _Scarborough_?"

Persephone froze, suddenly realizing what he was implying. "B-b-but, his birth certificate—"

"The Hogwarts census is magical not legal, and as much as I wish, heavens, I wish—"

Persephone stood abruptly and backed away from her husband, managing to trip over Isaac's chair sticking out from the table.

"I have laundry," she muttered and escaped down the hallway.

Joseph ran his hand across his face before rolling his chair backwards. With a grunt, he maneuvered around the table, knocking Isaac's abandoned chair out of the way. Once in the open hallway he found himself struggling to find the motivation to turn his wheels. Over the week, the reality of their situation had slowly filled his mind and forcing himself to share it with another was like climbing out of a pit of molasses. It didn't help when the person who should be holding your rope was running away.

"Persephone," Joseph ventured upon reaching the small room.

The strawberry blond witch was trying to fold one of Isaac's youth quidditch jerseys. She growled at how the steamed-on letters wouldn't fold correctly. "Stupid shirt."

"We need to talk."

Persephone crumpled the jersey into a ball and threw it on top of the folded clothes. "And I need to get these upstairs." She snaked past her husband's chair, hoisting the wicker basket over his head. Joseph fumed, and his lethargy instantly evaporated at her quick dismissal. .

"You can't run away from your problems!" He snapped over his shoulder at his wife's retreating form, unable to turn around in the narrow laundry room.

"Don't _you _start," Persephone shot back. She knew she'd regret that brutal stab later, but under such a siege of emotions she'd avail herself of any means of defense.

"This time I'm not," Joseph combated, maneuvering backwards into the hallway. Pumping his arms to move fast, he cut the distance from his quickly retreating wife in half. "We need to be on the same page, have a game plan."

Persephone ignored her husband's plea to converse normally. Instead, she pounded up the stairs, not sparing a second glance to her husband stuck at the bottom.

The steps mocked Joseph and he contemplated them with a special hatred. As insignificant as an anthill for Persephone, the stairs loomed like a personal Mount Everest over him. It was another example that his life was far from normal, another reminder that fate had targeted him unfairly. Everyone could move on with their lives while he was left behind.

Well, Joseph had enough of that.

He slipped his wand out his trouser pocket and held it up aloft with a slight downward angle. With a steady, but gentle grip, he twisted his wrist ever so gracefully and muttered, "_Wingardium Leviosa_."

Slowly, the wheelchair started to rise, and with slightly upward motion he hovered over the stairs and ascended. Persephone glared daggers at him, biting back a retort until he landed safely at the top of the stairs.

"What are you thinking?" she snapped venomously. "The Healer warned you that levitating like that is too dangerous. What if you lost concentration for one second, Joe? What then?"

"I'd hate to break a leg." He pounded on his hollow appendage, and a corner of his mouth twitched upward. "A crack really ruins the beauty of the plastic."

"What about your skull, Joe?!" Persephone's high-pitched screeched lacked true indignation as her anger crumbled into tears. "Why are you such an idiot?"

"Because I can't let you walk away, Seph." He grabbed his arm rests and pushed himself to a standing position, ignoring the discomfort of his newly acquired prosthetics; for years the phantom pain had made such accommodations impossible. After a slight wobble, he stepped forward and grasped his wife's shoulders with outstretched arms. "Eleven years ago, we stood at a crossroads and decided to move forward together. Heaven knows, I don't like thinking about what happened back then, but there is a likelihood Isaac's Hogwarts letter is going to open that can of worms, and we need to decide what to tell him. Let's make this decision together, yeah?"

He caressed the side of her face with his hand, before finding himself exhausted and needing to return to his chair; the tricky levitation and standing had proved more taxing than he anticipated. However, Joseph took his wife's hand, and pulled her into his lap. Persephone gently balanced on his lap and his armrests; her thighs carrying a bit more cushion after years baking biscuits for her son and taste testing a quite large amount of batter. She buried her roundly padded cheek on the top his blond curls.

"It's just—I wasn't expecting this, you know? But I should have, I mean, Hogwarts letters are always so precise; they know the exact room a child sleeps in, so of course the quill would know that you're not—bollocks, Joe," She held the back of her hand pressed against her mouth. "How can we tell him that? For Merlin's sake, he's eleven! He barely knows about the birds and the bees. I had never planned on telling him so young that his mum—"

"I was never going to tell him," Joseph cut in, squeezing Persephone's hand reassuringly. "For all intents and purposes, I'm his father; we raised him together, and that's what should matter."

"How certain are you that he'll find out the truth anyways?" Persephone asked. "Surely we can't be the first couple . . . in this situation."

"I don't know of any other cases," said Joseph, "I doubt anyone would admit it, though."

"No, they wouldn't, would they? At least not those from my background," she scoffed. "None of the Most Noble Houses would confess to it; that would be indecent." Persephone paused as something in her thoughts struck her as odd. "Why are you so worried, Joe? Isaac's not going to think less of _you _because of this."

"I'm not sure about that," Joseph hedged, feeling the weight of an uncertain future. "If he finds out I'm not his biological father, he might think I don't love him as much. He might think because we lied to him his whole life that our relationship is a lie."

"That's stupid," Persephone playfully slapped his chest. Joseph didn't feel reassured.

"It's easy to know you love someone. It's harder to believe someone could love you," Joseph confessed. "I'd hate for him to think that there was ever a moment I didn't want him or I was ever upset that he wasn't my natural child. Because I never thought that. Never."

"I know." Persephone rubbed her thumb over his hand. "I don't deserve you, Joey—after all we went through for you to say that, and mean it—I don't deserve you."

"I'm just thankful you're here with me," Joseph kissed her full cheek. "I'm lucky to be with you. And we're blessed to have a son. We're lucky and blessed. Never forget that, Seph. We're lucky and blessed."

Persephone gave a tight smile in return. "So, what do you want to tell him, Joe?"

"I haven't the foggiest."

* * *

A sudden feeling of cold woke Joseph up in the middle of the night. In the shadowed room, lit only by the moon through the blinds, he saw the outline of his wife thrashing wildly, tangled in their bed covers. Persephone's nightmarish mutterings echoed, a whispered cry, but earth shattering nonetheless: "_Please don't, please, I'd rather die . . . please stop, stop! Not in front of him . . . please, just kill me now, p-pl-please. . . I can't . . . "_

Her words wrecked Joseph just like they had eleven years ago; her cries producing more pain than when those Death Eaters took pipes to his legs and shattered the bones into thousands of fragments.

Joseph shuffled over closer to his wife, and stilled her thrashing arms with a gentle embrace, "I'm here now, Sephie, I'm here. You're safe, I'm safe, and we're both alive. We're okay; we got lucky and made it out. We're okay, baby, we're okay..."

* * *

"Has it come today?" Isaac bounded down the steps and raced into the kitchen. He plastered his face against the sliding glass door to their patio. "It's almost August; It should be here by now."

Persephone and Joseph shared a look that Isaac wouldn't know how to interpret if he had seen it. Neither parent could find the energy to feign excitement; both hadn't slept well enough for that. Instead, Persephone retreated into a more comfortable role.

"Your hair is atrocious, Isaac," she scolded and the boy tried to straighten his dark locks with his fingers, not realizing his hands added to the grease that practically glistened in the morning light. "When did you last take a shower? June? April? Go upstairs and use the correct amount of shampoo this time, you hear?"

"Mum, I haven't even eaten," Isaac whined.

"Obey your mother," Joseph snapped harsher than he intended, and Isaac started at his voice. The young boy analyzed his dad's appearance, taking in the hollow rings under his eyes and lack of smile, before coming to a conclusion.

"Yeah, of course, Dad. I'll get right on it," He moved to leave the kitchen, before deciding at the last minute to race around the table to wrap his arms around his father's chair and chest. "I love you," he whispered into his ear before scampering off back to the entrance way and up the stairs.

"That boy," muttered Joseph blinking back tears.

"Our boy," Persephone corrected.

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. _

With a sinking feeling, the couple turned to the sliding glass window. Hopping on one foot one their patio was a Hogwarts owl, shaking the letter on his other leg authoritatively.

"Can you see what it says?"

"No."

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. _

"Maybe the truth will be a good thing," suggested Persephone, nervously wringing out a dishcloth over the sink. "For medical reasons and such. We'd know for sure which one . . . you know . . . instead of guessing whose features he inherited."

"When I look at him, all I see is you," declared Joseph. "You're round eyes, your thin lips, your funny little nose."

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

Persephone smiled gratefully at her husband and crossed the room to hold his hand. "And when I see his imagination, his determination, his compassion—that's from you."

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. _

"We should open the door before we get pecked to death by an irate bird," said Joseph, resigned.

"We still haven't decided what to tell him," Persephone reminded.

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

"We lost so much that night, but nine months later we gained something so beautiful. And when I look at Isaac, I don't remember any of that night; I just see Isaac. I don't care about _how_ we got him, just that we got _him_. That's what matters, right? That's what we'll tell him."

Persephone's light kiss on the crown of his golden curls confirmed it: "That's what we'll tell him."

_TAP. TAP. TAP. TAP! _

She opened the window. The owl flew in and immediately soared up the stairs. The nervous couple heard the shower shut off. A second of silence passed before a loud celebratory whooping filled the small cottage on the outskirts of Otley; the long awaited letter had arrived.

It was addressed:

_Mr. Isaac Scarborough_

_The Green Bedroom with a Bunk Bed for Sleepovers _

_Cherry Grove Cottage _

It appeared that magic had very little to do with bloodlines after all.


	4. Theodore and Daphne - Alliances

**Theodore and Daphne - ****Alliances**

Theodore Nott strode through the Slytherin common room. The seventh year's once weedy build had recently transformed into something still slim, but subtly strong. His straight, spear-like path brought him to one of the enclaves where Daphne Greengrass was finishing up a Dark Arts treatise on the usefulness of cruciatus curses in interrogations. Theodore unveiled a letter from his robe pocket and threw in on top of her essay.

"I found this notice near Draco's satchel," Theodore whispered, acutely aware of the exact volume threshold that prevented his housemates from overhearing. "Snape issued a new academic standard: all seventh year students must master a corporeal patronus charm by winter break or face consequences. I don't think our dear Head Boy had any plans of posting this bulletin as instructed."

Daphne quickly hid the letter under the desk and scanned it over. "Thank you for the warning," said Daphne, but her words were laced with a trace of worry—

—which didn't escape Theodore's notice. "Do you know how?"

"No." Daphne admitted.

"I thought as much," said Theodore smugly. "I'll teach you; my father taught me when he realized You-Know-Who was recruiting dementors. I arranged it with Flitwick; we can use the charms classroom at night to practice."

"That's generous of Flitwick."

"Generosity had nothing to do with it," Theodore flashed her that sly smile that sent her heartbeat a few seconds into the future. "Be there by seven fifteen."

With that, Theodore turned sharply and sped towards the dormitories. Daphne watched two firsties jump out of his way before gazing back down at the memo in her lap. She rolled her wand off the desk into her palm. Muttering a quick disillusioned spell over the parchment, she folded it neatly and slipped it into her skirt pocket. Tonight she'd show it to the other girls in her dormitory; it'd be harmless gesture to gain a few feelings of goodwill.

Her alliance with Theodore might be strained soon and she'd need to build a few more bridges.

* * *

"It's a lot simpler than people think. A patronus charm is considered advanced magic, because it requires an extreme amount of mental discipline during a battle, but for a test all you need is a higher level of concentration. Since you're not pixiebrain like Pansy, you should be able to do this. Think of a happy memory, but don't dwell on the image so much as that feeling. Embrace that feeling, devour that happiness, and then—_Expecto Patronum_!"

A large scorpion rattled out of his wand. It turned, its pinchers ready to attack, its stinger twitching ominously before fading into the air.

Daphne flicked her wrist, uttered the incantation, but she couldn't summon a feeling of happiness. She tried meditating on one of her more innocent memories from childhood-chasing butterflies with her baby sister-when a strange feeling in stomach would jolt her out of it as soon as she said the spell. A pathetic sputtering of silver sparks caused Theodore to hang his head in shame.

"You can do better than that, Daphne," he said. "Capture that feeling of happiness and imprison it in your mind. Don't let it escape. Don't lose your concentration."

Her next attempt also failed miserably. So, she tried again, and again, and again. The results never changed; she couldn't push aside the persistent feeling of uneasiness.

"What is wrong with you?" Theodore exclaimed. "Your spell work is as pathetic as a Hufflepuff's love life. Concentrate!"

"Stop yelling. Give me some space!" She picked a different memory. The first time Theodore grabbed her hand after a Quidditch game, pulled her under the bleachers for the most amazing snog. She tried to recreate that feeling of warmth and excitement, but her body felt cold.

"_Expecto Patronum_!" Daphne cried and nothing happened. Not even a puff of silver wind escaped her wand. Theodore seethed.

"I'm wasting my time and influence trying to help you," he declared. "Remember, you will be _tortured _if you can't do this. What is so overwhelming distracting that you can't even summon a non-corporeal patronus?"

"My period's late and I'm probably pregnant!" Daphne blurted out the fear that had been plaguing her for weeks.

Silence reigned for an agonizing second before Theodore _laughed_.

"Stop overreacting Daphne," he took her head in his hands, and started a comforting explanation colored with condescension, completely non-pulsed by what should be surprising news. "I don't have the same first-hand experience with the womanly cycle, but even I know enough that stress can cause a cycle to be irregular. With Snape letting those insane idiot Carrows ruin the school and with bloody Longbottom trying to seduce everyone into becoming martyrs, we sure as hell are under a lot of stress. Besides, aren't you on the potion?"

Daphne shook her head no. Theodore stepped away and frowned.

"That might have been good to know before we had sex, Daphne," Theodore hissed, a little trace of fear heating his normally cool demeanor. "Why the hell aren't you?"

"The potion's expensive and you know how traditional my parents are about these types of things," she cried, pleading for understanding, "They're also stringy about giving me any allowance whatsoever—they sure as hell are not parting with their precious galleons for their eldest daughter to buy contraceptives!"

"So you steal it from them. Merlin, Daphne, this is not something you skip out on!"

"I thought you would've take potion for men! Please tell me that you've taken some type of potion before we've done it. Or did a charm." Daphne knew before he spoke he hadn't, and her face fell; that was the only hope standing between her and the creeping truth her body was undergoing a horrifying transformation from beautiful woman to a rapidly expanding incubator.

"I don't like how it makes me feel light headed afterwards. I've always left it up for the girls to do it."

"Yeah, because heaven forbid a man should bear any side effects of having safe sex. Who cares that it makes some women nauseous or have horrible cramps the next morning."

"How would you know? You've never taken it!" he retorted. "Besides, it's a woman's body, she has a right to it and what not, so it's her choice to get pregnant or not. Ultimately, I'm not responsible for your stupidity."

"You're a prat, Theodore Nott."

"Never said I wasn't." He paused. "But how late are you?"

"A month—and half. Or two, maybe?"

"Salazar's slimly balls, you are pregnant!" Theodore exclaimed.

"I haven't taken a test yet. I was afraid to know for sure."

"Ignorance doesn't change reality, Daphne."

She bristled at his superior tone. "I'm not an idiot."

"You're seventeen and pregnant. Apparently you are."

"And that doesn't reflect poorly on you at all? You're also seventeen and a _father_! Even if I don't say a word about you, my parents would badger me until I performed a simple blood paternity test; I'm not a slut like Parkinson, so guess whose name's going to be there?"

"We have a problem," Theodore collapsed into an empty chair and hung his head in his hands.

"No kidding. We're going to be parents."

"That's not the problem, I mean, that's not the main problem," Theodore corrected. "We're playing a dangerous game here, you and I. We're tight-rope walking the middle line, trying to keep under the radar so no matter which side wins, we'll come out unscathed."

"And this changes the status quo and draws attention to us, I know," she sat on top the desk next to him. "But maybe this could be a positive and protect us from being forced to fight for You-Know-Who."

"Protect us how?" Theodore asked interested.

"We'll, we'll be young, teenage parents with an unborn child. Surely, no one is going to force us to fight."

"Sure, if this was really a pure blood revolution, we'd be safe because purebloods aren't heartless barbarians." Theodore laughed bitterly. "But we're talking about a megalomaniac here. My father has witnessed the change in You-Know-Who since his resurrection, and that's why we're hiding in the shadows, kowtowing to those mudbloods and blood traitors instead of taking the mark! Even before You-Know-Who went loco, he tried to kill Potter as an eighteen-month-old infant. I doubt he'll care about that clump of cells in your uterus."

"Poetic as ever, Theodore" Daphne complained, but she couldn't argue. "So, pregnant or not pregnant, we're in the same position as we were before. Stuck in between."

"It's worse than that."

"Worse how?"

"You and I, we're secretly in this game together. At the end of everything, we'll come out and say we always supported the winner all along. I vouch for you, you vouch for me. If Voldemort wins, my Dad's long allegiance and your word will keep me safe just as I will keep you safe. Or if Potter prevails, we can claim to have been the two lone honest Slytherins stuck in a den of snakes and our non-interference with Longbottom and his gang will be proof; we'd claim we couldn't have publicly supported Potter in case of getting poisoned. We'd confess everything to the victors with the air of not caring whether the other lives or dies, which makes us appear truthful. But a baby, a baby changes all that; we'd be ousted as lovers. Our alibis are shot. No matter what side wins, we can't back each other up because they think our "love" will make us liars. Don't you see what a precarious position your prudish sensibilities and thoughtlessness has put us in?"

A look of understanding horror washed over Daphne's face. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't fix anything."

"So come up with an idea and fix it!" Daphne snapped, "You always act like you know it all, and so why don't you step up and think of something."

"We bring someone else in," suggested Theodore half-heartedly.

"No. We talked about this before. A third party is too risky. They could denounce us both. With just two, if one of us turns against the other, it's a '_he said, she said,_' '_he pretended, she pretended_.' It'd be a stalemate and so we still have protection from each other."

"Then need to bring in someone we trust to not sell us out."

"I'd only trust my sister, Astoria."

"She's a fifth year, practically still a child. And your sister. We'd have the same problem. What about Zabini?"

"Blaise is too smart," Daphne said. "There's no advantage for him to abandon his current strategy of sympathetic isolation, and nothing to keep him from turning on us later on."

"And Goyle and Crabbe are too dumb to understand the complexity of our game," remarked Theodore.

"Tracey Davis," suggested Daphne.

"Would wet her panties in an interrogation and we'd all be screwed."

"Millicent."

"She hates my guts for shagging her once and never again," said Theodore. "We need someone who has as much to lose if the wrong side wins."

"Avery?"

"A fourth year idealist; way too young, and he writes home to Death Eater daddy every Friday."

"What about—"

"Just shut up, Daphne! Give me time to think. This is all happening too fast. Just five minutes ago you sprung on me that you're pregnant and now I'm expected to save our bloody lives." Theodore complained. "We can't trust anyone. It's to no one's advantage." Theodore rubbed his hands over his face. "Okay, then, we take a different route. We'll have to become more active in our duplicity. We reach out to both Draco and Longbottom. Lead both of them along, like we want to become involved. We build credibility on both sides, and hope who's ever the victor won't believe the accusations of a sore loser."

"That's more dangerous."

"Less dangerous than giving someone our secret."

"We've got time to arrange it, though," Theodore said. "It's at least a month before you're showing, so, we have time to think about how to cover our subterfuge. It'll take all our Slytherin cunning to survive this. Merlin, Daphne, why were you such an idiot?"

* * *

The next week Theodore dragged her into the empty charms room on the pretext of an update. "Quick—cast a _muffliato_; the Carrows are patrolling everywhere and just looking for an excuse."

She complied, and he magically sealed the door as she soundproofed the room.

"I haven't exactly figured out how to arrange our new game yet, but here are some ideas to contact Long—" Theodore started, but Daphne had her own news.

"Don't worry about Malfoy and Longbottom," she cut to the chase. "I fixed it. It's done."

"What do you mean fixed it?" Panic colored Theodore's voice and he grabbed her arms. "Who did you tell? What did you _do_?"

Daphne looked offended, and wondered if Theodore really thought she was such an idiot as he often insinuated. "I fixed it because it's gone. I'm not pregnant anymore. I drank a potion and that was that. Status quo returned."

"Really?" Theodore scoffed. "And who did you beg that potion off of? Who now knows you were pregnant and desperate enough to end it. There's a reason I didn't suggest abortion, Daphne. You've opened us to blackmail!"

"No one knows," Daphne said firmly. "I did research on some methods in the library, covertly, and then snuck into the hospital wing to swipe some ingredients and pre-made base potions. I brewed everything while everyone was sleeping."

"That was dangerous—"

"I wasn't caught."

"—mixing potions like that. Even if you are in NEWT levels."

"Well, it worked," Daphne shrugged. "I'm still alive, and we're both going to survive this year no matter what happens now. So shut up and be grateful."

Theodore chuckled and seemed pacified by all her reasons. "You might a few brain cells after all," he complimented and nuzzled into her neck, brushing her collarbone with light kisses.

"You owe me now," Daphne pushed him away to stare into his eyes.

Theodore merely grinned confidently. "No, now we're even."

She sighed resignedly. That's how it was between them; a balance of power was the closest thing to _love _Daphne hoped to achieve in this relationship.

"So, have you tried the patronus charm again?" Theodore asked the question in a tone that implied he didn't quite care about the answer. He was more concerned about freeing her blouse from the waistline of her skirt.

"No," Daphne admitted, unable to see any advantage in lying about her ability. She shivered uncomfortably as Theodore's cold hands drifted across her bare back. "I can't make myself happy enough."

"Not even when thinking about me?" Theodore flashed his white teeth and raised his eyebrows suggestively as his hands ventured lower. "I wonder what wild, sexy animal you'd be."

Daphne felt the lingering pain of a cramp instead of the butterflies that used to fill her stomach when Theodore talked. She turned her shoulder into his chest, causing him to stumble back a pace.

Whipping out her wand, she exclaimed, "_Expecto Patronum_."

A disappointed spurt of silver smoke trailed off the edge of her wand and quickly dissolved. "Sexy enough for you? I'm never going to master it in time, so make do with that for your fantasies."

Theodore grimaced. "Well, I hear the cruciatus curse isn't all that bad," he lied reassuringly, "but I do have a not-so-secret desire to make you scream." The blond-haired Adonis leaned seductively back onto one of the charm classroom desks and Daphne doubted pulling her into the deserted room for an update on arrangements with Longbottom and Malfoy had been his primary motive at all. He looked at her like an art connoisseur waiting for the red velvet to be removed from a perfectly preserved Greek statue; his patient lust was grounded in the assurance he held the rights to her beauty. Two weeks ago, Theodore's blatant desire would have filled Daphne heart with passion. Now, she felt disconcertingly hollow.

"I'm still bleeding, Nott," Daphne growled in disgust, and pushed past him to the door. "And I'm your ally, not your whore. Go screw Pansy if you're so horny."

* * *

Daphne sipped her tea. She was visiting her sister, Astoria at Malfoy Manor. Her naive, mild manner sister had managed to wrangle Draco Malfoy, the biggest prat of her year, into a respectable citizen and future father. On her most cynical days, Daphne suspected her of using a love potion.

Astoria slowly put up feet on the stool, letting go of the lady-like demeanor in order to give relief to her swollen feet. She rested her teacup saucer on her expanded belly.

"We don't have a name," Astoria complained. "We need something strong enough to carry on the Malfoy tradition of beautiful dark names because his mother expects that, but honestly," She confessed conspiratorially, "We want a name that'd tweak Lucius, something that'd upset him, but fits the Malfoy tradition so he can't complain about it and Narcissa is content. It's tough finding the perfect boys name."

"If it's a girl?"

"Then it won't matter that much."

Daphne was surprised her sister would be so demeaning of her own gender, until she explained. "Lucius would have his panties all in a twist if we had a girl first and decided to let her inherit everything. Narcissa would be thrilled and By that point, we could name her Lucia and he'd still be angry."

Daphne was jealous of the way her sister laughed and seemed so happy. It was unfair that she could live in this dreaded Manor, the representation of the oppression of 1997, and act like it's perfect hostess, that she could sit in any chair and not wonder if You-Know-Who had sat there, not tremble but laugh, that she could dare bring new life into this world and be fearless about it, that she could cling to an arm with a dark mark and not cringe at that vestige of pure destruction. It seemed strange how much those two years between had sheltered Astoria, how at fifteen she had managed to retain just enough of her innocence during the war.

"It'd be nice if you could find a husband and have a child," Astoria said. "You know, I had always thought you and Theodore Nott were chummy during school. It's a shame he ended up with Pansy. Draco says that worse things about her."

"She's a slut with a slug-sized brain and magically-modified breasts," confirmed Daphne with perverse pleasure, "But a slut whose daddy has more money in his coin purse than we have in the entire Greengrass estate and therefore a beneficial acquisition for Nott. That's how he plays the game." Daphne thought back to their time together wistfully. For a second, she lost herself in the memories of those clandestine meetings of mutual need and she again wondered if a future with him would have existed if she had made a different choice. If that choice would have cemented his commitment. Perhaps they could have forged a life together from the fires of uncertainty. If she had kept the child, perhaps those lust-laced power struggles could have developed into something more loving, more permanent.

"Scorpius," Daphne said unexpectedly. "If I had a son, I would have named him Scorpius. It's strong and dangerous, like the name Draco. Even though scorpions are poisonous, they're often overlooked creatures; it would drive Lucius up the wall to have a grandson named after it."

"Scorpius. Scorpius," Astoria tried it out, letting the syllables bounce off her lips and tongue. "I think I like it. I'm glad you didn't have a kid before me, Daphne. Are you sure I can take?"

"Yeah, of course. What do I care? A kid just wasn't in the cards for me."

"One day maybe," Astoria said in that casual way, which reveals how little one actually cares about that future. Daphne wasn't sure how much she cared about her future either.


End file.
